Holding on and Letting go
by Blazingphoenix18
Summary: He holds on as tight as he can, because he can't bear to let go.


**A/N: So, this started as a drabble, 100 words exactly. But then my brain decided that it didn't want to let go, and make Walter suffer a bit more. So here's the end result. All I can say is, I hope you like it.**

**Title from the same song by Ross Copperman.**

**Un-beta'd, so mistakes are mine.**

**I do not own Fringe, as much as I may want to.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>The guilt.<p>

He had stolen a Peter that wasn't his, and he had gotten him killed.

It had eaten at him, clouded every thought he had, and so he buried himself in his work in an effort to distract himself. But he didn't realize (no, he forgot) about Elizabeth.

His wife. His dear, dear wife. She didn't cause this. No. But she felt it. She had seen her son die twice, one caused directly through her husband's actions. The guilt ate at her too, however indirectly. It ate at her, one by one, bit by bit, until she couldn't handle it anymore.

He should have been there with her. To comfort her. For her to comfort him. They should have been together.

But he wasn't. He had just sat there, consumed in his work. And she had just sat there, as the guilt consumed her and the smoke engulfed her.

She had drowned, just like Peter.

He had lost his family.

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><p>He's sorry.<p>

He didn't mean for this. Carla. His Carla. The lab assistant who tolerated him, and his stubbornness. He should have listened to her.

She had known.

He should have known.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Simple, Newton's law. He should have known that when he tried to save Peter - not his Peter - a foreign Peter who looked so much like his own, from a death that he should not have interfered in.

And now he was dead. But his presence, his introduction into a world that was not his own had already made an impact. The universe recognized that, and now Carla was dead because of him. The universe recognized that there was an imbalance, an imbalance only equalized by death.

It should have been him. Carla didn't do anything. She had warned him, but he ignored her.

He shouldn't have ignored her. And now she was dead.

He was left alone in his lab.

He had no one left, and with three deaths on his hands, he went mad.

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><p>He thought he had lost everything, that he knew the effects and no one would match his loss.<p>

He was wrong.

Peter, this other Peter, he was the master of loss. He can see it in his eyes, the first time they looked at each other, face on in the room of the FBI Building. They're bright blue and infinitely deep, an ocean laced with memories.

It's worse for Peter, he decides, because he knows them; but they don't know him. And he can see his heart break just that little bit every time he remembers: they're not the people he knows.

But he can't help him. He won't. As much as this man looks like an echo of his son, he can't help him. He's afraid, afraid that if he helps him, someone will die; he can't have more blood on his hands.

And so he is stoic, keeping his distance from his 'son', never coming within five meters of him unless necessary, or ordered.

He can't, and won't help him.

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><p>That is, until Elizabeth comes.<p>

Not his Elizabeth, he reminds himself, but the one from the other side. She's calm and smiles at him; he never thought he'd see her again.

She's here because of Peter; she's here to help him. She knows that he refuses to, but she also knows he's the only one who can.

He cries.

She's the woman who trusted him, placed her son in his hands, hoping he would save him. Instead, he got him killed. He expects her to be angry and mournful; but she just smiles. She says she forgives him, but that makes him cry even more. How can she? It was her son, and he killed him.

It was instinct, she says, and that there's no reason to beat himself over it. She's just glad that he tried to save her son. But now he should try to help Peter, the man who is but isn't their son. She's seen his loss, and she knows that he's seen it too.

It's only right.

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><p>He finds himself walking later that night, down to the campus housing he remembers he bought. It's a surprise to him, finding himself outside again; he hasn't been out since Peter first started causing trouble.<p>

It's cold, and he's not as wrapped up as he should be, so when he reaches he door, he raps on it insistently.

A minute and a muffled groan later, he sees the door swing open, revealing a surprised Peter.

He asks to come in, and is grateful when the door opens just that bit more. The house is warm, and he finds himself suddenly thirsty. Maybe he's mumbling his thoughts to himself out loud again, because Peter quickly disappears to the kitchen and returns with a glass.

His mouth stumbles with his words, slowly beating around the bush. He tries to tell him that he will help, but he's scared. He doesn't want to do this.

So he finds himself talking about Elizabeth, and Peter's mouth quirks upwards. He asks if she came to visit him, but he neither confirms nor denies.

Closing his eyes and taking a breath, he finally gets it out: he will help. Peter's smile is full blown, and he can't help but smile too. He feels something lifting up, a weight he didn't realize was there vanishing.

He feels the guilt wash away.

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><p><strong>Another note: I do have the drabble version saved, so if anyone wishes to see it (honestly, it's just a shortened version of this), contact me by either review or PM. If I get enough responce, I'll post it as another chapter, otherwise I'll send it straight. <strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


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